


The Forgiving Night

by journeycat



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M, Guilty Pleasures, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/journeycat/pseuds/journeycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is never easy, but Wyldon never knew it so well until now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Forgiving Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SMACKDOWN: Team Wyldon at Goldenlake in February 2010.

“Don’t go.”

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Goosebumps prickled his skin at the rush of cold air, and there was truly nothing more he would rather do than burrow back in the warm nest of blankets. The murky gray gloom of the predawn morning was unwelcoming, the winter air chilly. Instead, Wyldon murmured,

“I have to.”

The bed creaked under her weight as she sat up. He kept his head bowed with his eyes on the floor, but he was hyperaware of her every shift of movement. He breathed in the familiar yet strange scent of their lovemaking, entangled with the sheets. Guilt constricted his chest, tight and heavy and horribly defeating. 

He would have gotten up then, hunted for his discarded clothes in silence and leaving without a goodbye as he always did every morning after a night together, if not for her lips pressing against the nape of his neck. They seared him like fire.

“It’s still early.”

That was true; there was still another hour or two before any real light ruined the secret magic of the night. He could just lay back with his head against her plump pillow, back in the warm dent his body had carved into her mattress. He thought of gathering her strong, tough body against him and dozing for just a little bit longer, with her calloused hand on his chest and her head tucked into the crook of his neck, and her long heavy leg thrown casually over his. After all, the night was not over until the sun began to rise.

“Servants are up by now,” he said simply. “It’s better to leave early and avoid detection.”

Keladry rested her brow against the back of his shoulder, saying nothing. She did not have to. Regret did not need to be spoken.

And yet, and yet—still Wyldon did not get up. He wanted to blame the burden of responsibility, the constant reading and writing of reports, the stress of holding a commander’s office; he wanted to blame the woes of age, that getting out of bed seemed such a daunting task; but really, he knew he had no one to blame but himself, him and his own cursed weakness. As long as he stayed in the haven of their bed—her bed, he corrected himself sharply, because the only thing they shared was a secret—he could deny this just a moment longer.

Day was so much more accusing than night.

Wyldon exhaled heavily and dropped his head into his hands. _I need to find my breeches_ , he thought dully, but did not move.

“I’m sorry,” Keladry whispered.

He hated himself for that. This wasn’t her fault, when he was the one who should have known better.

“Don’t be,” he replied, and his hand found hers of its own volition.

Hers tightened around his, callous scraping callous. Without meaning to, Wyldon turned and cupped her cheek with her other hand, and gently kissed her. The room was gradually paling, but it would still be awhile before dawn broke. What was another moment spent with her?

Wyldon leaned back and Keladry went with him, pulling the covers over their bare bodies as she did. She stretched and nestled close against him, as reluctant as he was to abandon this self-made sanctuary. Day would come too soon, but until then, he could hate himself a little bit less and love her a little bit more.


End file.
